


Smith and Watson

by Chopin



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chopin/pseuds/Chopin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor got Dr. John Watson as his attending physician rather than Martha Jones. / Post-Reichenbach, no slash, S3E1 "Smith and Jones"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smith and Watson

John hurried out the cab after tossing the appropriate notes at the cabbie.

After breaking up with Sarah in New Zealand, John had become Sherlock's full-time assistant and partner. John had never really thought of himself as a Consulting Detective, despite what Sherlock's clients assumed, and more like Consulting Detective's Doctor/Partner.

Now Sherlock was dead and gone, and what was there for John to do? After been invalided, John had lost his life, not in the literal sense, but all the same he had died as it was Sherlock who had previously brought him back to life. They'd been wonderful, Sherlock had been everything John needed for well over a year and then Sherlock tumbled off St. Barts.

Despite what Sherlock wanted John to believe, and the world for that matter, John knew that Sherlock hadn't committed suicide. Oh, he'd thrown himself off the hospital, yes, true; but was certain that Moriarty had used some sort of leverage and convinced Sherlock to take that step off just as Jefferson Hope had convinced his fares to swallow the poisoned pills.

It was ingenious, it was murder; and Sherlock was still dead.

Knowing this did nothing but depress John further and fuel his hatred towards Moriarty.

Since Sherlock's death, John had grown cold and empty. He felt more of a shell than he ever had since before he'd ever met Sherlock Holmes, but he still wouldn't give it up for the world, even knowing the pain that would inevitably come. But oh, was the pain unbearable. Every morning John would lie awake, silent tears trailing down his cheeks. He would have terrible night terrors. John worked his life on automatic with nothing registering.

He was just as dead as Sherlock.

John tried to free himself from the paralyzing grief, but while alcohol was a habit he'd picked up in a way worse than Harry had ever been; it only hid away the pain for a night. The pain would always be back in the morning, ready to snatch him from his dreams and torment him with his friend's bloodied broken body.

So John drank the morning away too, and the afternoon and the night. Mrs. Hudson didn't approve of John's new state of sobriety (or lack thereof), but she remained silent. She knew that the moment that John stopped drinking, reality with kill him immediately and without mercy.

It was frank and cruel, but it was there, in the depth of his vacant eyes.

Sherlock was John's whole world, and without that madman at the center, John was spinning apart.

Mycroft, in an effort to rescue John from his impending fate, got him a part-time job at Royal Hope Hospital. It was a minor position, but it kept John occupied and slightly more sober than he would've been otherwise.

The job was a good one, a patient boss bribed by Mycroft to be forever understanding and patient. Never was John to be fired, and always was his work to be checked for mistakes. John, despite his lack of mind, was still one of the better doctors at the hospital, able to apply Sherlock's methods of deduction to diagnosing his patients. It shamed the other younger doctors to be overshadowed by this half-drunk shell of a man; and it made them resentful and shy away from him.

John was alone in the work place; and by avoiding any and all involved with Sherlock's suicide, John was alone at home too. Only Mrs. Hudson visited, and only once every month or so, only able to take so much drunken abuse from what was once a good man.

**xxx**

John was still in a bad mood from that rude bloke decked out in leather like he was in an American action cinema, but John did his best to ignore the rude brush off in the lobby. It really wasn't worth the energy to get hyped up about anyway. John had patients to tend to, and in his slightly liberated state, John could really only follow one train of thought at a time.

So John set about checking on his chronic hypochondriac on floor six, the three in ICU for appendicitis, and then the two in CVICU for heart attacks before making his way towards the less extremely ill patients of his roaster.

Florence Finnegan was the first in his less severely sick patients. She was a kindly old lady who'd only been in the hospital all of two days. She was friendly and quirky, and John was faintly reminded of his grandmother - the woman who'd practically raised him and Harry while their parents were too inebriated to do anything.

Alcoholism was a serious vice in the Watson family.

After Florence, John would most likely head over to see his new patient, John Smith, before heading over to remove some sutures from another patient down the hall.

"Flo! And how're you?" He slurred a bit, blinking rapidly against the bright light shining through the window.

"Sober, Doctor." She replied with a dry smile. She didn't approve of his drinking either, but was also well aware that while alcohol dulled his mind, it didn't affect his work. His work was the only thing John had now.

He grimaced and let himself fall back into a recliner chair.

"How much and of what kind?"

John sighed, resting his cane against his inner thigh, "Whiskey, 24 ounces." He confessed.

Her eyes widened almost comically, "And you're still standing?" She asked in wonder with a slight 'tsk' in her voice, "Doctor, I'm concerned for your health."

"Everyone is." John replied, "and honestly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Flo gave him a knowing, very sad smile, "Alright, Doctor." She nodded and patted John's knee, "Just be sure."

And how she'd known that he was on the verge of throwing himself off St. Bart's roof too was beyond him. He'd just mentioned that didn't give a damn about his health, something he shouted at both Lestrade _and_ Mycroft; and neither of them had caught the underlying current that she had. Only Flo had been in his company a full half hour since their initial acquaintance and she already had such acuity towards John.

"I-" John sat back, faintly alarmed, "I haven't really set a date yet. Flo." He managed in a whisper.

"But you've decided, and I want you to be sure you're ready for it to end."

John paused, staring at the floor dispassionately as he remembered Sherlock. Giggling after a mad chase through the city, attacking Chinese smugglers, facing Moriarty and the Woman, saving England, stealing ashtrays, chasing augmented wolves in forests…

John also remembered the flailing arms in running in windmill circles before smashing right into the ground like a bug on a fly swatter. The blood painted the sidewalk, and the still warm body with glazed eyes and nary a pulse. John remembered visiting the body in the morgue, Molly having given him time with his friend after the autopsy. She said she'd be back in ten minutes, but she didn't return for three hours; letting John curl up on the cool steel table with the corpse of his best friend and just cry into that dark mass of curls as he held tightly to the corpse, as if he could pull Sherlock's soul back from the grave. The funeral, begging it all to be some sort of lie; and then going to _their home_ and putting on Sherlock's long Belstaff coat and crawling in Sherlock's bed and just _existing_ best he could. Then Harry came over and got him drunk, and John still hasn't the bravery to let sobriety take him back since.

" _But you've decided, and I want you to be sure you're ready for it in the end."_

"It would be a gift."

There was silence.

Flo just held his hand.

**xxx**

"So…" John whispered as he and his new friend/patient overlooked the lower level of the hospital from the balcony, "What did you say these aliens were called again?"

"Judoon." Was the whispered answer, "Think of them like police, but for space _and_ for hire… they're more like interplanetary thugs, actually." Smith shrugged, wrenched his neck to the side, and then inched forward, watching one of the Judoon interact with one of the men by the door.

" _Fantastic_." John grumbled sarcastically again as he shifted in his position behind the potted plant. His leg was achy again, what with all the squatting and walking around, but he'd lost his cane at the balcony as the alien ships had landed, "And they brought us to the moon, because…?"

"Neutral territory. According to galactic law, they've got no jurisdiction over the Earth; so they isolated us here. That rain earlier? Lightning? That was them, using an H2O scoop."

John gave Smith a cross look, "So… we're trespassing on the moon then? I – well- with that 'galactic law' I mean?"

Smith looked at John with that grin again, that madman-grin.

"No. But I like that. Good thinking." He congratulated John with a tip of his imaginary hat, "But you're wrong. No. It's more simple than that." He pointed to the Judoon below, shining lights in peoples' eyes and then inking their hands, "They're making a catalogue; it means they're after something non-human, which is very bad news for me."

John blinked, "Wait, what do you mean, _'bad news for you'_?"

Smith shot John a Sherlockian 'figure-it-out-yourself' look and John suddenly understood, "You're an alien too." Smith nodded at him, "That's why you've got two hearts then…"

Smith inched forward again, watching the proceedings below very carefully, "Yeah, and-"

He never got a chance to finish. John had chosen that moment to clout his newly-discovered alien-patient very firmly in the arm, hard enough to leave a bruise and pull a yelp from the other man.

"I gave you _human_ drugs, when _you_ were an _alien?_ " John's neck and the tips of his ears were crimson with anger, and his entire left hand was shaking like a mini-earthquake with its' power and destructive capabilities all cubed before being squared and times'd by ten.

"I-"

John walloped his patient again, roughly knocking him to the floor, before grabbing him by the lapels of his suit and wrenching him up to John's eyelevel with an inordinate amount of strength for your ordinary human being.

Very suddenly Smith was staring into John's rage-filled eyes with his own widened with surprise chocolate-brown ones.

Smith made a mental note – _Hell hath no fury like a Watson's scorn._ – and believed every word of it.

"I am your _doctor."_ John hissed, spittel flying form his mouth in the rage, " _You_ are _my_ **patient**. You _will_ behave; or I _will_ beat you bloody, knock you comatose, truss you up, and lock you in a closet. **Got that** _?"_

Smith nodded fervently, "Got it."

John nodded back, and then, with an irritated huff, dropped him.

"John Smith isn't your real name then, is it?" John asked, his voice betraying the existence of any of his previous ire so believably that Smith found himself doubting that it had even occurred in the first-place. "That's a human name, and you're… not human?"

"Yeah, Time Lord actually." Smith (a Time Lord?) answered as he backed out and away from the edge of the balcony, "Come on then. We've got stuff to do _, Doctor_." He grinned madly at John, who just blinked before crawling after him.

**xxx**

The fact that John's patient, Mr. Smith, was actually an binary cardiovascular timetraveling alien was but a highlight in John's day was something of a worrying nature. Especially since that meant crazy rhino space-cops were after anything alien, including Mr. Smith, then it would be really bad, such as "everyone would die" bad.

**xxx**

Once they were out of sight, both men immediately shot to their feet and dashed down the hallway, John tailing his patient, as fast as they could run. Smith led John to an office, empty and abandoned, but apparently exactly what he needed to do whatever it was he needed to do.

John closed the door behind them, locked it, and then slid down the wall before settling on the floor to give his leg a well-deserved rest. He really shouldn't be running like that anymore.

John then turned to watch Smith as he waved some sort of tubular metal device at the computer's monitor, before whacking it harshly with his free hand after four or so minutes of the private light-show doing _absolutely nothing_.

Personally, John was content to watch him for however long this madman was prepared to beat and shout abuse at the machine. John felt a sense of déjà vu, what with his own ongoing battle with chip and pin machines across the entirety of Great Britian, and could sympathize quite readily with the man's (alien's) predicament. Additionally, John needed to get his breath back, but once that was done about ten or so minutes later, John decided enough was enough and stood. This madman was evidently a genius. John could just sense it, an ability he'd gained after living with Sherlock for nearly a full year, and most geniuses, John knew, needed enabling.

"So, you're a Time Lord." John began as he slowly made his way over to the computer desk at which the alien was working, "Do you have an actual name then? John Smith couldn't po-"

"The Doctor." Smith – The Doctor – interrupted.

"The Doctor." John echoed with a tilt of his head as he hobbled forward some more, he'd lost his cane somewhere along the way, "Doctor Who?"

The Doctor grinned, like he'd just heard a funny joke, and then his expression grew to be one of serious concentration again, "Just 'the Doctor'."

"Doctor of what then? You've a specialty of course, being a doctor, so in what then? Aliens?"

The man in front of him snorted again and turned back to face John, "You're a _very_ funny man, Dr. Watson." The Doctor beamed happily at him before speaking in that deep-yet-mocking baritone voice of his again (the one he used for funny exaggerations or ridiculous exclamations), "I like you."

He then went to answer John's earlier question, the one which John had so keenly forgotten he'd even asked, "And no. _Well_ … yeah." Pause. "Well, a little bit of everything really." He shrugged, apparently satisfied with his answer and turned back around to the computer. John having only just caught up to _what_ exactly the man was talking about.

"Doctor of everything." John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "Okay then. What are you doing? And what are you doing it _with_?"

"Sonic Screwdriver." He briefly held it up for John to see.

John eyed it and leaned back again, watching over his patient's shoulder so the man/alien could get back to work. It looked pretty nifty, only if it worked though. So he asked.

"Does it work?"

The Doctor guffawed at John and sent him the stink-eye, " _Of_ course, it _works._ " It was like he was insulted just by the very idea that it might not.

John nodded at him. "It's cool."

The Doctor blinked like he'd not heard that comment directed at him before, "What?"

John smiled, "It's cool." as he motioned towards the 'sonic screwdriver.'

The alien was grinning now, "Sonic Screwdrivers _are_ cool, _aren't they_?" He sniffed happily before suddenly growling and hitting the computer again with a loud huff. Honestly, this man-!

"What's wrong?"

The Doctor shot John a look before sighing and then gesturing widely to the computer, "It's this- computer!" He almost whined, "The Judoon must have locked it down." He sighed and began to mumble quietly, yet just barely loud enough for John to hear, " _Judoon platoon upon the moon_." Then the Doctor groaned audibly, slamming his forehead down on the frame of the monitor, obviously stuck.

John put a hand on his shoulder, and the Doctor suddenly looked up at him and then continued talking like he had never stopped in the first place, "Cause I was just travelling past, _I swear_. I was just wandering. I wasn't _looking_ for trouble, honestly, I wasn't; but I noticed these plasma coils around the hospital, and that lightning(That's the plasma coils); which been building up for two days now, so I checked in, I thought something was going on inside, it turns out the plasma coils were the Judoon up here - in space." He groaned dramatically, and John could almost swear it was Sherlock in that chair instead of his new alien friend, the way he didn't seem to need to pause to breathe while talking widely about nothing (or something) in particular.

"So what are the Judoon here for?"

The Doctor spun in his chair to face John and rested his head on the palm of his hand, "Something that looks human, but isn't."

"You?"

"Not me – but like me." He shrugged.

The Doctor spun back around to the computer and set to work on it again, calmer than he had been before.

"What if they find the other alien then? Why is that bad?"

" _Be-cause_ …" He stretched out the word as he worked a very particular spot very forcefully with the light from his Sonic Screwdriver, "They might declare the hospital guilty of harboring a fugitive. They'll sentence it to execution then. 'Justice is swift' and all that."

He went to typing on the computer now, accessing files after having beaten whatever it was he was fighting with on the computer earlier, "But _if_ I can find this thing first-" He slammed his fist into the computer suddenly, startling John, "Oh! Just that: they are thick! _Judoon are thick!_ They are completely _thick_!" He shouted angrily, "They wiped the records." He mocked, irritated, "Oh, that's clever." Sarcasm, then. Brilliant.

"Well, what are we looking for? I'm a senior doctor here, I know a lot about the place." John offered as he sat upon a heap of boxes as a sort of make-shift chair.

"I don't know. Any patient admitted in the past week with unusual symptoms? There might be a back-up…"

John stood and limped over to the door.

"Hey! Where're-?"

"Mr. Stoker." John interrupted turning around, "He's very posh, bit of a prat, but he's very hands-on. If there's any back-ups, chances are: he's a copy in his office someplace." John sighed, "Keep working though, in case I'm wrong."

The Doctor grinned at John very suddenly, "I knew I liked you. Smart thing, you are." He clapped his hands together, "Alright then, Dr. Watson, off you go!" And with that, and an unnecessary shooing motion, John set off down the hall and towards Mr. Stoker's office.

**xxx**

The man, Mr. Stoker, was planning on retiring in a few years; and John had gotten to know the guy pretty well as he was planning on moving someplace in Essex, an area in which John had grown up in as a child. He wanted to know about some of the better neighborhoods, and John hadn't minded talking about his childhood country.

When John actually _got_ to the office, it was, of course, locked. So John set to work picking said lock.

Before Sherlock, it had never been a necessary skill, picking locks, but ever since then John could never have been more grateful for being taught the trade by the master lock-picker himself. It was consistently useful and never had ceased to be a serviceable skill, even after Sherlock's death. (John found himself picking locks at least once in every three days, and he questioned what that said about himself.)

John had the door open in under 15 seconds with nothing but a spare paperclip from his wallet (kept for emergencies, of course) and some good jiggery-pokery. It was bent out of shape after the lock picking, but John didn't care and tossed it over his shoulder before continuing forth unto the breach.

**xxx**

The office was empty, not a soul in sight, and that meant John would have to snoop around instead of just asking for the back-ups like a normal person.

Another useful skill John had learned from Sherlock, was how to snoop efficiently and quickly through an office. John had a lot of practice raiding Mycroft's office (The one upon which Sherlock raided most often and had the least amount of time to do so). The goal had always been to steal whatever sweets Mycroft had packed away, and even though Sherlock's brother wasn't overweight, he still _always_ had sweets hidden away. John figured out at some point along the line that they were only actually there for Sherlock to snatch and steal away. That caused John to thereby equate the 'raiding of Mycroft's office for candy' to 'a game between the two brothers that Sherlock wasn't quite aware of yet'.

John started with the file cabinets first, and then moved to the closet at the far end of the room afterwards. He didn't hear someone approach him from behind, hadn't even been aware of them until something very solid and _very_ thick grabbed him from behind and dragged him backwards.

John, startled, yelping loudly and swinging out. He had slammed his knee right into the groin of whoever was holding him; but it had, surprisingly, zero affect. John, instead, was whapped across the skull and then, once stunned by the hit, dragged further back from the closet and pushed to his knees facing the doorway of the office.

**xxx**

John dazedly looked up and saw his attacker to be that rude man from earlier, the one who'd bumped into him without apologizing afterwards.

What confused him though, was Flo, his patient from before seeing The Doctor, standing in the door way with a smile on her face. She was grinning in a way that reminded John of the Doctor's mad-smile, but it seemed more conniving on her visage.

"Flo?" John ventured with a heavy swallow, "What's going on?" He struggled slightly against his restrainer, but the man in leather just twisted his arm, forcing John to release a pitiful yelp in pain. He was breathing heavily now, and he could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"I'm helping you, Doctor." She smiled at him as she knelt before him, cupping his face with one of her wrinkly old palms.

"Helping?"

She gave him a sad smile, "A gift, Doctor."

And John remembered his last words to her. He remembered the pain he felt, still felt, and always will feel. Sherlock was dead, and what? Flo was offering to kill him?

"Why?"

"There are great tests to come," She said philosophically, softy, "and terrible deeds. Some of them my own. But if I am to survive this, I need blood." She leaned back and with a wave of her hand the restraining hand at John's arm and neck were gone. The leatherman stepped back and John clutched his arm to his chest as he spared a quick glnace towads the leatherman before turning his attention back to Flo. "I thought I might give you the chance to take what you wanted most."

"What's blood got to do with anything?" John questioned, 'I don't understand."

"Well, Doctor, I was only salt-deficient because I am so very good at absorbing it." She nodded at him as she pulled a white straw from her purse and held it up for John to see, "I need fire in my veins; and who better than the man who wants to die?"

"You want to _drink_ my blood? That's what you're saying? You'll drink my blood?"

"Oh, you're a smart one." She praised as she knelt down in front of him.

"Who are you?"

"A survivor, Dr. Watson. At any cost." She folded her hands in her lap, "What do you say, Doctor Watson? Want to die?"

John cast his gaze to the floor, swallowing painfully past the lump. The constant loss of Sherlock and John wasn't coping. He wouldn't survive. John was fine right now, what with this adventure, but what afterwards? What would he do? Go back to his flat and mould, maybe throw himself off St. Barts...

John tipped his neck to the side, granting Flo access.

"Yes." It was bust a whisper, but it was all Flo needed before she descended upon his neck with that straw. He felt the plastic stick in his neck, breaking past the skin; and then his blood began to well-up to the wound. His platelets would try to seal the opening, but it wouldn't do any good. She would just drink them all up.

He could feel her lean over him, placing the unattached end of the straw at her mouth, and then it started. He felt her sucking through the straw and his blood flowed right up the plastic tube –just like a smoothie. John grimaced but held still, letting the approaching black take him without a fight.

Just when John thought it was over, just before he lost himself, John managed a hoarse "thank-you" before falling beneath the surface, hopefully gone forever and, with luck, to see Sherlock again.

John knew only floating blackness. It was nice, slightly cold, but alright. If this was death, or the other side of it, John could live here for a while. Not too long before he would go mad, mind you, but what did it matter if there weren't any people around? No one to mind a madman?

Did it really matter?

Fancy that though: being killed by a vampire.

He didn't even know how long he'd been floating. It was peaceful.

Then a soft murmuring could be heard. Something breaking through his black haze.

 _"John."_ And he could recognize that voice. It was familiar.

"John, wake up!" He felt someone shake his shoulders, and John groaned at the disturbance.

"Leave me 'lone." He mumbled incoherently. He felt the shaking stop suddenly, and John grinned at the tiny victory. Then he recalled he wasn't suppose to be able to talk, being dead, and his eyes popped open and, leaning over him, he saw the Doctor. His concerned face was looking down at John with a sort of solemnity that was reserved for only those who were beyond help. Who'd lost someone really important or were lost themselves. John was both.

"What happened?" John croaked at the man leaning above him.

"Found the back-ups." The Doctor replied calmly. Quietly. "I came to get you and found that plasmavore feeding off of you." His lips were pulled thin, "I managed to get you out of there and in here." He made a gesture with his eyebrows drawn to their surrounding area, and John made a quick look around from his position on the floor, "This closet." The Doctor clarified. He sniffed and looked back down at John, "I thought she'd killed you." The corner of his mouth pulled downward a bit, "I have a tendency to lose people, and I thought-" He shrugged and leaned back, allowing John to sit up slightly, with the Doctor's help mind you.

John nodded, "Yeah, that was the plan." He rubbed the back of his neck and kept his gaze to the floor, aware that the Doctor's eyes had suddenly snapped to his face.

"The plan?" He'd echoed, "You-" He choked and cut himself off, " _You planned that?"_

 

* * *

 

"Yes." John didn't see a point in lying.

The Doctor looked horrified, angry, and scared all at once. The grip on John's elbow grew painfully tight, and after several seconds the Doctor finally managed to breathe a "But _why?"_

"Because I'm broken, and nothing can fix me. If it wasn't her, than I would've thrown myself of St. Barts, or put a bullet in my brain, or jumped onto the Underground's track. I'm a man without a purpose, and I've got a life not worth living." With every word the Doctor seemed to grow paler, and John was silent. John stared at him, waiting; but the Doctor kept his gaze averted.

"What if-" The Doctor stopped suddenly and swallowed, "Want to come with me?"

John arched a brow, "I am with you."

"No, I mean-" He sighed, " _Come_ with me. Travel with me. To the end of the universe and time and space and then back again."

John watched him.

"Adventures all the time, people to save, and so many different things to do! But you can't do that. You have to promise, right now, that you won't ever just _stop."_ The Doctor was practically imploring John; and honestly, maybe that's all John needed.

Someone to promise everything, mean nothing, and make unreasonable demands.

John snorted, "Yeah, okay."

"Okay?" The Doctor persisted. "Okay what?"

"Promise, okay? I promise."

The Doctor smiled as he clapped John on the shoulder and gave it a good squeeze, "Okay." He breathed, "Okay. Good." Then John smiled too.

**xxx**

John opened the door and stepped out of the closet, the Doctor following behind. Almost immediately they heard noises to their right.

They had stepped out right in front of a Slab, who apparently, was still searching for them.

The Doctor suddenly wrenched forward, grabbing John by his hand, and shouted 'Run!' before leading the take off down the hall.

John kept up easily, although at one point he had to hurdle a gurney, something which slowed him down a tad (and impressed the Doctor. He hadn't thought John had it in him). They seemed to be running in circles, and then they were speeding down a stairwell and right into a narrow barely used hall. The Slab wasn't far behind, but once they'd made it in the X-Ray room, the Doctor whipped out his Sonic Screwdriver and locked the door.

"We haven't lost him." John warned as he allowed the Doctor to lead him to the X-Ray controls.

"I know." He said hurriedly, "You know how to work this?"

"Yeah, why?" John nodded, hand on hips.

"When I tell you, press the button!" And then the Doctor had suddenly materialized in front of the X-Ray scope and was fiddling with it. The Slab was already going at the door, breaking it down would only be a matter of time, and John didn't see how X-rays were going to do anything, but then, he wasn't the genius in the room either.

Then with a loud bang, the door splintered, the Doctor finished, and all went hell.

John didn't know in what order anything happened, but suddenly the Doctor was yelling 'Now!' and the Slab was running in, and John had slammed his palm into the button, and then there was a flashing, and a smell of burning flesh, and a sound of something akin to a dishwasher; and John had felt the heat of a fire, and he went temporarily blind-!

All in all, very stressful, and by the time it had ended, John was very confused. He peeked out from behind the glass window and saw the Slab lying inert on the floor. Seemingly harmless, but one could never be too sure.

"What did you do?" John queried the Doctor, who was standing a short ways away.

"Increased the radiation by five thousand percent." The Doctor licked his lips, his whole body tingling with the feeling of success, "Killed him dead." He pronounced confidently. John was less sure, but left the safety of the room anyway.

"Won't that kill you, or does that not affect you? What with you being an alien an all?" John looked to the Doctor curiously.

"Nah, it's only radiation." He shook his head, "We used to play with roentgen bricks back in the nursery." John nodded, made sense in a weird sort of way. "All I need to do now is expel it." He pronounced happily and with an insane sort of glee that could only be experienced by a madman.

Which said something since John was feeling rather giddy himself.

Then the Doctor began hopping and bouncing around. He shook his arms like noodles and John couldn't hide the growing smile on his face as he watched the Doctor 'expel' the x-rays.

"If I concentrate," He announced, "I can shake the radiation out of my body and into one spot." He shook and jumped about a bit more for good measure before suddenly announcing the current location of the radiation, "It's in my left shoe!" John stifled a giggle as the man lifted his leg and began to shake his left foot widely, "Here we go, here we go, easy does it..." Suddenly he threw his head back, still shaking his left foot, and began to grunt in pain.

"Ow, ow!" He repeated for each and every shake or jump or bounce, "Aha! It is, it is, it is-!" He was kicking out his foot now, full extent. John had to actually back-up to avoid being hit, "It is hot." He shouted before suddenly twisting his head drastically to one side. John inched a bit closer, "Ah-" the Doctor gasped, "Hold on!"

Suddenly the Doctor was ripping off his left shoe, throwing open the yellow bin, and hurling the red Converse inside with a thick resounding thud.

John blinked, both men staring at the other.

"You're mad." John told him, "You do realize that, right?"

The Doctor inhaled sharply through his nose and looked down at his mismatched feet.

"Right." He agreed looking back up at John, "I look daft with one shoe."

He then ripped off his other Converse and flung it in the yellow bin right with the other.

The Doctor grinned broadly, "Barefoot on the moon!" He exclaimed with a loud clap of his teeth. He then took a deep breath and marched right over to the Slab on the floor.

"Solid leather, all the way through." The Doctor pinched the leather and John copied him. He was right; John could feel it was solid leather, from one side to the other. "Someone has got one hell of a fetish." The alien joked before standing straight again and looking about.

"Florence. "John input, "Where do you think she is?"

"My sonic screwdriver."

John shot around, and saw that the Doctor was holding his, or what used to be his, Sonic Screwdriver. It was burnt out at one end and completely broken. John thinned his lips and stood up, moving around the Slab slowly, as if it would awake from the dead and eat him whole.

"It's-" John tried, only to be interrupted again.

"My sonic screwdriver!" He exclaimed more loudly, clearly peeved. John watched him as he gently stroked the side of the small device, "I _loved_ my sonic screwdriver." He whined pitifully, obviously distressed.

"It can be fixed?" John tried.

The Doctor looked from his screwdriver, to John, then back to his screwdriver.

"Nope."

Then the Doctor shrugged and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, leaving John to fumble for it uselessly before catching it between the palms of his hands with a soft clap.

If this was alien tech, and John was positive that it was, it shouldn't be just tossed about for anyone to find. Who knows what could happen?

"Right now, what were you saying about the Slab?" The Doctor blinked innocently at John, who was promptly scowling at the Time Lord and twitching his nose in exasperation.

"First of all," John ground out, pointing the burnt out screwdriver at the crazy alien's chest, "Don't leave your alien toys lying around. Dispose of them properly so you don't change the future of the entire human race by _littering_." John held out the screwdriver for the Doctor to take, the same Doctor who was smiling a madman-smile right at John again. The Doctor seemed almost fond of him, like a man would be fond of his dog when he'd just done something rather cute and pointless.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." The Doctor sniffed, still smiling, although he was trying to stifle it now, "You can, uh-" He lamely flapped his fingers at John, "Hold it for me, yeah? I'll 'dispose of it properly' when we're back on Earth."

John had the distinct impression the Doctor was humouring him, and decided to move on and change the subject to something far less embarrassing.

"Anyway. What are we going to do about Florence? She's plasmavore right? What's that mean? Why did she want to drink my blood?"

The Doctor sighed and crossed his arms, rubbing his chin with his right hand, "If she can assimilate your blood, mimic the morphology, she can register as human." The Doctor explained, "Now that we know what she is, we know what do."

"We do?"

"We've got to find her and show the Judoon what she is." He slapped his fist into his open hand and grinned triumphantly, "Come on!" He called as he dashed out of the lab, barefoot and all.

**xxx**

John crouched in front of the Doctor, peering down the long hallway, watching the another Slab walk by.

"That's the thing about them." the Doctor whispered, "Slabs always travel in pairs."

"Fascinating." John replied before suddenly turning around and facing the Doctor, "What about you though?"

"Me?" The Doctor squeaked.

"Yeah, you're facing an army of Judoon, without any pre-prepared back-up, and a plasmavore. You haven't a partner or something? Companion to help you?" ' _Enabler' went unsaid._

Suddenly the Doctor's gaze was focused solely on John, and John felt his ears flush.

"Sorry, sorry." He flustered, "That's-that's personal. I shouldn't have said anything." He stumbled, "It wasn't- I'm sorry. I-"

"Rose."

John stopped and turned around to face the Doctor again. He was looking at the ground now, rubbing his fingers between each other, "Her name was Rose Tyler. Lost her." John nodded, understanding.

"Not dead." The Doctor quickly corrected, "She's with her family, just… lost. Never gonna see her again."

John looked to the floor, "I-"

Suddenly the Doctor was standing and striding past him, "Come on!" He called, changing the subject. He was about to go striding down the hall, but instead there was a sudden light in the Doctor's face and a Judoon was a hair's breadth away.

"Non-Human." It grunted.

The Doctor's eyes widened comically as he reached for John, hauled him to his feet, and quickly led them away from the Judoon reading their blasters and taking fire.

"And again!' the Doctor huffed as they just barely rounded a corner and avoided being fried by space rhinos. John could already hear the Judoon rushing after them, but then they bolted right into a stair well and they climbed down, going back the way the Judoon had come.

They emerged in a corridor that looked like it'd been through hell and back. Pictures were crashed on the ground and people were huddled together in hallways, gasping for air. John hadn't really even noticed the lack of oxygen, but then, he was also running on adrenalin…

John spotted one of the Medical Students he happened to like a lot, Martha Jones, helping one of the older handicapped seniors with an oxygen tank. She was sort of his unofficial protégé, and seeing her here, at the hospital on her off day, made him both very proud and very angry.

"Martha!" he called as he jogged towards her, brushing past the Doctor with a quick apology before sinking to his knees beside her, "Are you okay?" He was going to go for worry instead.

She gawked at him, "Your leg-! It's-"

"Another time, Martha." Truthfully, John had totally forgotten about his limp until she mentioned it, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but there's not a lot of air left. Not enough for all these people at least." She gestured to the patients strung along the walls, huddling in corners.

Trying to breathe on the moon - not working out very well.

"Are you okay?" John hadn't even noticed the Doctor hovering next to him until the alien's hand was on his shoulder, checking to see if John would pass out from oxygen deprivation or not.

John nodded at the Time Lord, "Yeah. Running on adrenaline." John pushed himself back to his feet after comfortingly patting Martha on the shoulder. She then continued with the woman in front of her, leaving John and his new friend to do whatever it was they needed to do. Right now, she lacked the focus to do anything more than be comforting to the patients lining the halls and her coworkers slowly suffocating.

"What about the Judoon?" John eventually questioned as the two of them continued walking down the hall.

"Ah, great big lung reserves, it won't slow them down."

John nodded and grimaced, "So then, what do you think Florence was doing on earth?"

The Doctor spared John a small glance before turning back to the hallway around them, "Hiding. On the run." He sighed, "Kinda like Ronald Biggs in 'Rio de Janeiro'. The question is, what's she doing now? She's still not safe." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, "The Judoon could execute us all." He waved his hand dismissively, "Come on!" And then they continued running down the hall. Not at their previous pace, but still something fast enough to keep John's adrenaline up.

**xxx**

John paced the hall, going from one side to the other. He had no idea what he was going to do or how he was going to do it. He was just a doctor, not even a soldier anymore. Too broken for that, yeah, he was probably one of the worst bloody people for the job.

The Doctor had told John that he had to hold off the Judoon as long as he possibly could before leading the space rhinos to the MRI room to turn the "alien" into their custody. Whether that alien would be the actual plasmavore or not was the big question, but John trusted the Doctor to have a plan. What John _didn't_ trust, was his own ability to hold off the Judoon. What was he going to say to them? Stop please?

And then the Judoon rounded the corner and began marching towards John at a sedate yet purposeful pace that was usually associated with a military squadron. John inhaled sharply before dashing towards the group of Judoon.

"Oi! Stop!" John shouted as he pushed out his arms in front of himself, "Stop!" He barked again, right in the leaders face. The head rhino didn't seem too perturbed by this, and just shined that scanner in John's eyes.

"Human." It grunted, roughly grabbing John's right hand and bringing it closer to eye level so he could mark a crude black 'X' on the back of his hand. They were about move on, but then John jumped back in front of the rhinos.

"Wait!" John yelled again, spreading his arms out wide. The Judoon commander just grabbed John's shoulder and pushed him roughly out of the way and right into the wall.

"But I've got information about the alien you're after!" John pleaded as he pushed himself away from the wall, getting ready to dash back in front of the Judoon Captain again.

He didn't have to though.

The Judoon squad had all, simultaneously, stopped moving and then turned towards John with a sort of searching look - that they didn't quite believe that John could possibly have any useful information. John inhaled and sharply marched over to the Judoon Captain for a third time and crossed his arms.

"I've got information you need." John declared bravely, "And I will tell you if…" John paused momentarily, remembering that he had to hold the Judoon off for as long as possible. "-if you give me one of your blasters." That should hold them for a while. No soldier in his right mind would give a civilian his weapon.

The Judoon snorted right in John's face, forcing his hair to fly all over the place, before roughly shoving his blaster (the thing weighed a ton!) into John's chest. The force of it knocked John back several steps, before the doctor could finally regain his footing.

"You will tell me your information." The Judoon demanded.

John blinked once, startled, he wasn't actually expecting that to work…

"She's a plasmavore." John began hesitantly, managing to shift the blaster to his left hand, "She's with a friend." John nodded, "Yep, a friend of mine. And she's in a room."

The Judoon snapped John up against the wall and lifted him three or more feet in the air, before wrenching the blaster out of John's hands (he'd a very feeble grip on the gun, otherwise the rhino would have never been able to disarm John so easily) and shoving it underneath his chin.

"Specify or you will die."

That left no room for argument, so John jerked his head towards the right room before gasping out, "MRI room." It was really the only thing he could say with as little air he had available, but, luckily for John, it was enough for the space rhino.

The Captain released John and led his squad down the hall, heading right for the MRI room, blaster and all.

John watched them leave, leaning against the wall and just breathing. He needed a moment, several moments, but he didn't have that. The job still wasn't done. So John heaved a sigh and made to follow them to the MRI room, running down there as fast as he could go. He had to make sure that Florence was taken care of and the Doctor was left alone.

When a light flared, and the sound of static reverberated off the walls, John knew something (or someone) had been shot, and John double-timed it to the MRI room. The Doctor, much to John's concern, was unconscious and on the floor, while Florence and her Slab were nowhere to be seen.

Immediately John rushed to the Doctor's side, pressing his ear against the Doctor's chest, but he heard nothing. His hearts weren't beating.

"What happened?" John demanded the nearest Judoon, "What'd you do?"

There wasn't a response, the Judoon just looked at him and then the Doctor, and then led his men out of the room.

"Fine!" John shouted, " _Screw you!"_

And then he turned back to the Doctor and checked his pulse again, but on his wrist this time.

"Doctor?" He managed, albeit his voice was strangled with emotion.

There wasn't a pulse.

The Doctor was dead.

John blinked, wiping furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand.

The Doctor wasn't going to die, John decided. Not after everything he'd done to save them from the Judoon, and the moon, and _whatever else_ he'd done before John had even found him in the hospital.

John growled angrily, a determined set in his brow; and placed his hands over the Doctor's right heart, one over the other, and started CPR.

He pumped once, twice, three times, and four; before suddenly pinching the Time Lord's nose with one hand and tilting his head back with the other as he lowered his mouth to the Doctor's and breathed – one and two. Breathed – one and two.

John sat back and then went to start pumping again; one hand over the other, splayed out over the Doctor's left heart this time and started pumping again. _One, two, and three and four._ John shifted his hands, starting again with the right heart, only vaguely aware that the hospital appeared to be back on earth, _And one and two, three, four._

John ignored the people outside the little bubble John had created between him and the outside world – nothing else existed for John but the Doctor. He wasn't aware of anything going on behind him, ignoring even a passing nurse futilely trying to get his attention.

_Left: One, two, three, four._

_Right: One, two, three, four._

_Breathe: One and Two. (Should he do it again for the second heart?)_

_Left and Right. Breathe. Breathe. Left and Right._

John wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough for the mindless noise outside the MRI room to die down, and for the nurse to quadruple spontaneously and mutate into paramedics and a Mycroft with an umbrella.

"-ohn." A soft voice breached John's bubble as he _Left, Right. Breathe and Breathe. Left, Right and Breathe. Breathe. Left, Right. Breathe and Breathe._

"John." And a hand was on his shoulder, snapping him out of his zone. John was suddenly aware of the vast ache in his chest and the strain in his arms. His knees were crying for reprieve, and he was developing muscle spasms in his lumbar back.

"What Mycroft?" John hissed, and went back to pumping; he'd almost lost his rhythm for a second there.

"The man you're working on is gone, John. Let him go."

John shook his head, "Not yet." _Breathe and Breathe._

"John." Mycroft was sounding patronizing now; and just maybe slightly sympathetic.

"Cortisone." John rushed out between breaths, " _Please Mycroft._ " John had turned to give Mycroft the most desperate expression he could make, " _Cortisone."_ And Mycroft relented, ordering a paramedic to get John everything he ordered.

Not five seconds later, another man was beside him and holding out a hypothermic needle, "5 cc, Cortisone." The medic announced. John shook his head. He'd been doing CPR for who-knew-how-long – 5 cc wasn't going to cut it.

"50 cc, Cortisone." John ordered and he moved to the _Right, Breathe, Left, Right-_

"50? That'd-"

" _50 cc, now!"_ John barked, and then suddenly it was in his hand, and John wasted no time in jabbing the needle right into the (where John assumed) connecting Aorta vessel - where the two hearts merged together before forming into the pulmonary arteries a little bit later.

As soon as John had removed the needle, the Doctor jerked upright, back arching, as he swallowed and gasped for air. The paramedic immediately backed off, alarmed (It just wasn't possible!), but John stayed close to him. He helped the Doctor roll over onto his side, into the recovery position, and rubbed his back to help calm him down as he tried to refill his lungs with the oxygen they so badly craved.

"What-" The Doctor tried in a raspy voice, but John stopped him.

"Stop talking." John ordered in bluntly, "You just stopped being dead, so give yourself a few minutes."

The Doctor's eyes widened considerably upon learning that he'd been dead only seconds before, "Did I-"

"Oi!" John snapped, "Be quiet and breath."

The Doctor snapped his mouth shut and went back to focusing on the highly challenging task of breathing, and, seeing that he was being obeyed, John began with the explanations, "Florence, don't know if you remember, killed you before the Judoon could get to her." The Doctor didn't seem too surprised by that, he remembered that bit, "The Judoon left after they got her, and I started CPR as soon as I got in here." The Doctor nodded again, understanding, "I don't know how long I was at it –"

"Approximately 17 minutes." Mycroft cut in, re-alerting John to his, and the other paramedics, presence'. John turned back to Mycroft, he was standing about a meter away, and only a single paramedic, the one who'd helped with the Cortisone, remained from earlier.

"Seventeen minutes." The Doctor repeated, surprised that John would keep it up for so long, "Why didn't you stop?"

John turned back towards the Doctor and gripped the alien's shoulder tightly with his left hand.

"Doctor remember?" John reminded as he tapped his own heart with his free hand, "We can't ever stop. We save people."

The Doctor _beamed_ at John, and John couldn't help but grin in return.

* * *

 

Rory gave both men before him a cross look, "Pig-swelling Hairyfoot-Pale Tonsilitis disease?" He echoed faintly.

"Just the like." The taller of the two gave a curt nod. His companion was still examining the corpse, or what _used_ to be a corpse, on the morgue table before them.

The body, to put it kindly, couldn't be in worse shape if you stuffed it through a meat grinder. Bloody awful mess. Literally.

"Right." Rory bit his lip, "And what kind of doctors did you say you were again?"

"Good ones." Dr. Smith replied with no fair amount of cheek.

"How many other bodies like this?" Dr. Watson asked after a moment, wrapping up his surgical gloves and tossing them in the bin.

"Just three." Rory shook his head, "Look, is that it? I'm not sure I'm-"

"No, no, I think that will be all!" Dr. Smith proclaimed loudly, "You've been amazing. Thank you." He sniffed once, very loudly through his nose, and then made for the exit with a sudden shout of, "Come along, John!"

Rory turned his attention to the other doctor, who just smiled sheepishly and gave a short shrug, before turning and running after his companion.

Rory shook his head and sighed, "Nutters." He muttered to himself. May he never see either of them again.

* * *

It had been a month since Mycroft had put himself on the "John Watson" case.

He'd called once since then, and only a few short hours ago.

John had, apparently, popped up briefly in a small town in northern England before vanishing again not a day later.

Not even Mycroft was fast enough, missing John by hours. It irritated the elder Holmes brother, and Sherlock would be proud of his blogger, if he wasn't so worried about him.


End file.
